


Feel It Come On (Like a Sudden Hope)

by acaelousqueadcentrum



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:42:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaelousqueadcentrum/pseuds/acaelousqueadcentrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts and short Waverly/Nicole fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time We Found a Way Back Home

“Stop, stop,” she says, and lifts her head, groaning in something almost like pain as Waverly chases her mouth, nipping at her lip again.

_God,_ she thinks, almost whimpering at the feel of the other woman’s tongue–testing, tasting against her own. It’s everything she’d imagined, the feel of Waverly atop her, under her. God, she’s waited so long for this. To feel like she belongs, to feel like she isn’t just holding someone else’s place

This–kissing Waverly–this feels inevitable. This feels like the kind of moment that marks the before and the ever after.

For a moment, she’s lost again. Lost in the cradle of Waverly’s hips, feeling the roll of Waverly’s body under her own. Lost in the eager slant of Waverly’s mouth against hers, the hand toying with the thick leather of her belt at the small of her back.

She could do this forever, Nicole knows, lay here on this couch, Waverly Earp’s legs wrapped around her waist, holding her close. She could kiss this woman forever and that, the thought of that–

“Stop,” Nicole says again, pulling her head back, putting a breath between them, space to think, to clear the want and the need from her thoughts. To beat back the lick of desire that flickers through her. “Wave, stop for a second.”

“Did I do something wrong,” she asks, looking up at the officer, and there’s a hint of hesitation in her voice, of uncertainty.

But Nicole shakes her head, and looks down at the woman below her.

“No,” she whispers, soft and reassuring. And she knows her whole heart is there for this woman to see. “No, not at all.” And she brushes her lips along the line of Waverly’s cheek

“Then why?”

Nicole smiles down at her, remembering the confession that had brought them here.

Scared of her.

This girl who chases down nightmares.

This woman, whose chin trembles when she’s angry and fighting tears of frustration. Who balls her hands up into fists and narrows her eyes when she’s being underestimated. Who doesn’t jump but leaps into the unknown, who has lost so much and still, still, steps out every day with a smile and a heart that hopes.

This woman is scared of her, of what they might become to each to other.

The thought of it–Waverly being afraid of her–is ridiculous.

Because if there’s anything that Nicole knows, it’s that everything is in Waverly’s hands.

Still.

Still.

“Nicole?” Waverly asks, and shifts underneath the deputy, smiling dangerously at the noise Nicole can’t quite hold back.

“Because,” Nicole starts, and then takes a deep breath, holding herself still against Waverly’s body, “because I want this to be good. Right. I want this to be right.“

She looks down into Waverly’s eyes, and her resolve deepens.

"Because you deserve good and real, Wave. You deserve a nice dinner and somewhere nice, not the sheriff’s couch.”

Nicole kisses her again, chaste and sweet, but with fire underneath the false cool, the facade of calm.

“You deserve to be wooed, Waverly Earp,” she whispers, and brings her hand up to cradle the gently rounded jaw. “I don’t think anybody’s taken the time to do it before, not properly.”

And Waverly smiles up at her, eyes soft and glistening.

“Oh,” she says, biting at her lip, “and you think you’re the woman to do it?”

Nicole answers her with a kiss.

“I know I want to try,” she answers, and Waverly pulls her closer, wrapping her arms around the deputy’s neck.

“Well, you’re off to a good start, Officer,” Waverly tells her, and pulls her close again. “A pretty damn good start.”


	2. If You Live You Will Learn

“You love her,” Wynonna says, and it’s not a question, but Nicole answers it anyway. Blood in her eyes, covered in dirt and sweat and exhausted in a way she doesn’t think she’ll ever recover from.

“I do,” she states.

Fact.

Truth.

“I do,” and the words are even stronger this time, even steadier, as she holds out her hand to Wynonna on the ground, helps to pull the other woman to her feet.

“When this is all over,” the sister of the woman she loves says, looking at her while she checks her gun, spins the cylinder, “you and I are going to have a talk about not hurting her.”

And Nicole nods. Because now isn’t the time, but when it comes, she’ll have plenty to say on the subject herself. About the people who leave and the broken hearts they leave behind them. Little lost girls growing up without the only person in the world who shares their trauma, their terrible past. About people who have no idea how precious it is, to be loved so fiercely, so without boundaries or limits or recrimination, about what we owe the ones who love us without question.

Nicole just steels herself, ejecting the magazine from her gun and checking the remaining cartridges, runs her fingers over the backups clipped to her belt, and hopes they will be enough. Hopes they will last.

And she doesn’t look over to the woman at her side but stride toward the door instead, jaw set and heart shuddering against the tendrils of icy fear wrapped tight around it. 

“Can’t wait.”

When they pass through the doors, when they enter the hall, guns out and eyes alert, it’s with the knowledge of just what’s at stake. The knowledge that, for both of them, failure today means losing everything. Means losing the woman who makes up their whole world. 

They won’t fail.

They can’t.


	3. The Everything of After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first time

It’s not that you’re nervous.

You’re terrified.

But this is something you do well, being afraid. You’ve been afraid your whole life, and it’s led you to do some amazing things.

Like taking a leap of faith.

Like jumping and hoping she would catch you.

Like pressing your hungry, hungry mouth to her lips and praying she would meet you in kind.

And she did. And it’s been the best thing you’ve ever done.

And you’ve been terrified the whole time, but maybe that’s just who you are. Maybe you’re just the kind of person who is afraid and does the things that scare you anyway.

That, you think, you can live with.

Because it’s brought you here. To her bed.

To her, laying back against the bed, naked and inviting.

To the woman who didn’t laugh when you told her you were afraid, when you told her you were scared because you didn’t know what to do. But who took your hand and pulled you close, and whispered a delicate “me too” in your ear.

She wants this, she wants you, and what that does to you is something you never could have anticipated. Powerful, it makes you feel powerful, and strong. Little Waverly Earp, little girl lost, little girl left behind.

But not here. Not now.

She makes you feel strong, like you could take on the whole damn world.

“Wave,” she says, watching you watch her, seeing the thoughts as they pass across your face. And she holds out a hand, an invitation, an anchor for you to grasp onto, a lifeline.

But you’re not hesitating out of fear. Out of worry.

It’s there, it’s always there. But what has you still and holding and waiting is something else. It’s knowing that this is what you want, her, how she makes you feel. It’s knowing that you can have it, her and the everything she offers, the everything of after.

It’s terrifying. And it’s wonderful. And it stokes the burning in your belly, tugs your wanting into desire, hot and heady and desperate.

“Nicole.”

You breathe her name more than you speak it. It comes out the way she makes you feel, weightless, airy.

And you hope she can hear it–loved.

Loved.

It’s early yet, but you know.

You love her. And maybe that scares you most of all, but it’s also the thing that makes you feel like you could conquer the whole damn world. Her and the way you love her.

The way she loves you.

“Nicole,” you whisper, taking one last long look at her, laying back against the bed, naked and waiting for you. How the gentle bend of her knee invites you in, how the soft wisps of hair against her naked sex beg for the feel of your fingers brushing against them. The beautiful secret they keep.

And you can’t wait any longer. You can’t hold yourself still any longer.

You need to touch, to discover. You need to write the way she makes you feel into the parchment of her body, words witnessed in touch and skin, until you can say them aloud. Until you can whisper them against her lips, until you’re ready for her to hear them. For her to know them.

For now, your touch will do. Will speak for you.

For now.


	4. A Piece of Cake

“For the last time, Dolls,” Wynonna grunted at her boss, “carrot cake is not cake. It’s vegetable loaf disguised as cake. Waverly, back me up here.”

But Waverly didn’t hear her. She was too busy cooing with her wife over the tiniest pair of green booties that Nicole’s mom had crocheted. 

“Useless,” Wynonna groaned, “she gets knocked up and all of a sudden she’s useless.” 

“Hey,” Waverly said from behind her, throwing a wad of pastel colored paper toward her older sister’s head. “I’m not useless. I’m busy growing a human–”

Wynonna gave her a look.

“–a half-angel half-human baby. I can’t help it that I’m too tired and fat to go play demon hunter with you at the moment.” And she sticks out her tongue at the older woman as Nicole laughs beside her.

“But seriously, Dolls,” Waverly adds, “carrot cake? For a pregnant lady? Next time we’re putting you in charge of decorations. Or something you can’t screw up so badly. Honey?”

Waverly turns to the redhead at her side.

“Already going, babe. Chocolate cake, lots of frosting, and caramel swirl ice cream?”

“You’re the best,” Waverly said, tilting her head up for a kiss, and smirking over in her sister’s direction as she watched her wife walk out the door, appreciating the sexy swagger of Nicole’s hips in those jeans.

“Ew, Waves,” Wynonna teased, “you’re like eleventy months pregnant. Stop giving your wife’s ass the fuck me eyes.”

And Dolls just grimaced as the Earp sisters laughed.


End file.
